


JAMAIS VU | Cedric Diggory

by softjinri



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Bronwyn - Freeform, Enola - Freeform, F/M, Fanfiction, Gryffindor, Harry Potter - Freeform, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, francis - Freeform, tallis - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26973421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softjinri/pseuds/softjinri
Summary: ‘I’ve never seen someone act the way you do.’‘No one has.’
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	JAMAIS VU | Cedric Diggory

A pale triangle of light spilled through the gap under Enola Tallis’s blinds, hitting her eyes and stirring her awake. She rolled over away from the burning brightness, groggily lifting her arm to check her watch.

6AM. Wow. Brilliant.

Enola groaned and dragged herself out of bed, steadying herself on her nightstand as the blood rushed to her head a fraction too quickly. She yawned again, pulling on her dressing gown as she stumbled down the stairs.

Bronwyn was already awake, fully dressed, at the kitchen table; she’d brewed a pot of coffee on the stove and was munching on a slice of toast as she scribbled on some parchment, her quill waving wildly. Her dark hair was brushed back into a ponytail and she flashed Enola a brief smile as she wandered into the kitchen.

‘You’re up early,’ Enola noted through a yawn.

‘When am I not?’

It was true; as per usual, Bronwyn was up hours before even the owls had begun squealing as the Tallises morning alarm. Enola didn’t know how she did it; by this point, she was sure Bronwyn just didn’t sleep.

‘Is Francis up?’

‘Probably not,’ Bronwyn said idly, pausing to brush some crumbs away from the ink. ‘He’s worse than Dad in the mornings.’

Enola poured herself a mug of coffee, ignoring the scold of the drink in the back of her throat. Bronwyn finished what she was writing with an exaggerated flourish and spun in her seat to face Enola. 

‘You haven’t forgotten the Quidditch World Cup, have you?’

Enola flinched; she could think of a million better places to be than watching the final of the Quidditch World Cup, but her family were Irish and her father a retired professional Quidditch Player, so, legally, according to Mr Tallis, the whole family had to attend the final. 

‘How could I? Dad’s not stopped going on about it for months.’

In truth, the only reason Enola hadn’t objected to going was her love for seeing her father’s whole face light up when the subject of Quidditch arose. 

Also possibly, a teensy possibility, that part of her took any opportunity she could to see her brother’s best friend, Cedric Diggory.

It wasn’t like she fancied him or anything, of course not - I don’t have time for childish crushes, she liked to tell herself - but she did find the guy incredibly attractive. Again, it wasn’t like she fancied him. She just thought her had a pretty face.

‘You good there?’

Bronwyn was watching Enola with a raised eyebrow. She nodded, sipping some more coffee. She turned to look out the window.

‘Who’s on Francis Duty?’ she asked. The sisters had somewhat of an inside joke when it came to ‘Francis Duty’, a euphemism for ‘who is going to take one for the team and go and awaken the devil incarnate himself?’. Francis hated waking up, and often, one of the girls were sent to wake him up. Having to all be on their way to the Portkey by seven thirty that morning, waking up their brother this early would definitely be a self sacrifice.

Enola glanced over her shoulder at her sister, placing her half finished mug of coffee on the counter, suppressing a yawn. ‘I did it last time, for Mum’s birthday. Your turn.’

Bronwyn groaned. ‘You’re joking. I’ve done it loads of times since school finished. I’m sick of being on Francis Duty. I’m always on Enola Duty too. I’m not doing it, Nolley.’

Enola ended up being on Francis Duty, escaping with no more than burst eardrums and a pillow to the face. Mr and Mrs Tallis woke up and were ready to leave in less than ten minutes, rushing their three children around the house, summoning and packing bags and clothes whilst washing dishes in the kitchen, feeding the owls, clearing up any mess they could find as Francis, Enola and Bronwyn blindly followed orders being shouted at them by their mother and their father’s shouting to rush them out of the house.

When they finally managed to get all five of them to the fireplace, Mrs Tallis was audibly muttering about how they could never get anything done on time while their father complained about being late for the match.

‘No one’s gonna miss the match, Dad,’ Francis assured him as Enola was being dragged towards the Floo Powder bag by Bronwyn. Francis and Bronwyn were stark opposites of each other: whilst Bronwyn was always looking smart and presentable, well dressed and proper, Francis had this kind of rugged charm. He managed to look attractive despite also looking like he’d just rolled out of bed; Francis was the human embodiment of ‘I woke up like this’. Enola was a mix of her older brother and younger sister: they all shared the same dark brown hair, the exact same shade, and the same pale green eyes and sharp noses. They were all fairly attractive, Enola liked to think, but despite their physical likeness, the three Tallis children could be no more different in personality if they tried.

Francis was playful and fun, known for his impish face and charming nature. He was loyal and dedicated to what he loved; his family, his friends, and like his father, Quidditch. He was the Keeper of the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team - had been since his second year - and a Prefect, naturally skilled in anything he tried, as well as somewhat of a rebel. The professors simultaneously loved and hated him. Bronwyn, however, was one of the most intelligent people Enola knew, if not the most. She was about to begin her fourth year at Hogwarts, yet she acted like she was leaving her seventh. Whenever Enola saw her, she was scratching her quill along some parchment, scribbling down some notes or learning something new from a thickly bound book Enola could hardly pick up. Bronwyn wanted, more than anything, to be Gryffindor Prefect and Head Girl, and Enola had no doubt that she would get it. On top of her intelligence, though, Bronwyn was particularly gifted with a paintbrush, and hung throughout her room, she had tiny portraits she’d drawn and painted of Enola, Francis, the family, her school friends and people she admired. She also had a somewhat rebellious streak in her; her best friends were Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, four of them known to be the quartet notorious for disregarding the rules. 

Enola, however, valued her ambition. She was aware that she had a cold exterior - resting bitch face, her best friend had once called it - but she was smart. She was smarter than her brother and sister, in the sense that she wasn’t rash; she stands back, weighs out all possible outcomes, and then chooses the correct path. She was a strong leader too, and was often looked to by her siblings and her friends to lead them in the right direction. She secretly enjoyed that power, but only really wanted to do her own thing, lead her own way without the added responsibility of people she cared about relying on her. She knew how to look after herself and others, even if she did sometimes wish that she could just be left alone.

‘RIGHT!’ Mrs Tallis bellowed over the chatter of the other four people in the room. ‘Are we finally ready to go? Francis, you first.’

Francis grinned at his mother, flicking his sisters’ heads as he brushed past them, earning two consecutive slaps to the forearm. He took a handful of Floo Powder from the pot on top of the fireplace, climbed inside and shouted, ‘The Diggory Household.’

Emerald green flames licked at his feet, climbing up his body and swallowing him in a blinding wall of fire. Enola winced, turning her eyes away.

‘Right,’ Mrs Tallis said, smiling at her oldest daughter. ‘Enola. Nolley. You next.’

Enola nodded, returning the smile, dipping her hand into the Floo Powder. She followed her brother’s example, clearly announced her destination, and allowed the familiar, heady feeling of the Floo to engulf her.


End file.
